Smoke and Mirrors
by The Labris
Summary: You don't know everything, Draco Malfoy. But, it was funny, because from that moment on, he did. How could he have lived so long with her smoke and mirrors?


**SMOKE AND MIRRORS**

~by The Labris~

* * *

_Part I_

It wasn't a revel per se, but it was certainly no tea party. A large amount of the guests were Death Eaters, or at least Death Eater-sympathizers. They were crowded in the small, dark, smoke-rimmed, dungeon-like room. Nonsensical, loud music blared from speakers no one would ever see, and a dark sort of light poured from a source no one would ever find. It was an event for the young, for the new and hip of the dark side. Like their fathers, it was for the recruitment of Death Eaters. But, for the Gen-Xers(1) of the wizarding world, this was as close as it got to a techno grind.

Draco was disgusted by it. All in all, the theme stank of Muggle influence and reeked of cheap prostitution and alcohol. Seduction, he thought, should never have to be this blatantly vulgar. He would snort, however, drink whatever they'd poured in his glass, and try to look like the All-Britain, bad-boy poster-child. It wasn't hard; he'd done it his whole life. But, it was old. Just like his father's style was old. Cold and distant. Handsomely evil. Distain dripping like blood from a mirror. A mirror that was his eyes, reflecting you in tiny black orbs. You were small and upside-down, vulnerable.

Whatever was in his glass was sweet with a pleasantly tangy after-taste. He drank it like water, hoping it would put him out of his misery before he was forced to perform. He'd never understand it, but he didn't have to. All he had to do was bow and scrape a little bit, cheer at the end, and try not to die in the middle.

Closely examining his friend's face, he decided she was a hag. Oh, yes, she was very striking in every way a man could want. Maybe even his father would accept this whore. But, her blond and buxom Swede appearance didn't do much for Draco. What could he say? He was immune to fair-haired idiots, having spent too much time around his mother. She tried her best to play coy, drumming her accent like a bad hand of cards, and finally thrusting her last line of attack, her chest, out for even God to see.

All these girls were the same, he decided. They may not look the same, but they're cut of the same mold. Upper lip twitching in irritation, he turned away from the woman to his left and eyed his dark-haired friend cruelly. Blaise had brought this trash over to him, hoping to get on Draco's good side after the incident with Pansy. Blaise had a taste for other people's things, especially their wives. While Draco didn't care much for his own wife, and didn't mind who she slept with, he had never really liked Blaise to begin with. He had too much of an androgynous feel to him. Draco could never trust him to lift up a skirt or unzip a pair of trousers. What could he say? Models…

True this candy-revel, as Draco had dubbed it, wasn't a complete waste of time. They had taken in five new members within the past three weeks. Their numbers were slowly growing. Draco didn't care, but Draco cared enough to live; otherwise, he'd skip this parade and move his sorry ass back to France before the big one dropped. And the big one would drop; this he knew. Enola Gay(2) was as close as the second star to the right and straight on till morning.(3) Strangely but satisfyingly, he'd neither the will-power nor the motivation to take a large part in the 'storming of the castle.' His father would have loved it if he did. But, Draco didn't care quite enough.

He gritted his teeth, praying for Blaise's bad memory to turn up, when Blaise revealed he had a guest he'd like Draco to meet. Like Draco could stop him. He suppressed the overpowering urge to smack the silly grin of the pansy bastard's face as Blaise excused himself. Draco mused about who Blaise would bring back. Another blond? No, he'd seen the way the Swede had been rejected. A model friend of his? It was fun to guess, even if the actual girl didn't live up to his imagination's expectations.

In the uppermost balcony of the room, Draco could see most of the guests. They made fools of themselves with their dance and their music. But, none seemed to care. Maybe when Draco was drunk enough he would join them… His eye was practiced by now. He could almost see who would join and who would never come back. He picked three out of the crowd that would come around with a little motivation.

Draco looked at Blaise's friend with more than just mild interest. She matched Blaise inch for inch. Though, Draco reflected, most of that was due to her shoes. This woman had class. And she was a woman; that was for sure. Long, curly, red-on-red hair reached to her tight stomach. A thick wave of curls, every color of red, yellow, and orange cascaded down her bare back. She looked like she had hidden strength, like her tiger's claw hands could cause as much damage as pleasure. A tattoo wound from the back of her neck to the underside of her arm and around to the top of her hand, spreading on her fingers like leafs on a tree. Her eyes, large and luminously amber, gazed out of fan eyelashes and paintbrush brows. Lips, delicately formed, pushed out of her pale skin with a hint of a stubborn chin. No doubt she wasn't classically beautiful, but she was exotic, nonetheless. Terminally pretty.(4) Her dress, black, simple, draped across her shoulders, down to her sternum and gracefully cut up to one hip.

She didn't smile at him; she merely looked into his eyes and challenged him. "This is my friend," Blaise was saying. "She models lingerie with Kles; you know, Graymalkin? Anyway, her name's Evra. Evra, this is Draco."

Her gaze was hard, trained, like a push at his pride. She looked at him like he'd looked at that Swedish girl who'd conveniently skipped out of the room. Gold bands on her arms flashed as she pivoted on one heel and sat where Blaise led her. Blaise made some excuse to leave the private room, and Draco returned Evra's translucently muddy gaze.

"I knew a boy named Draco once," she said in a rich, sultry voice. It didn't seem like she was trying, it was just the way she spoke. "He was brutally handsome. They said he was ruthless, crude.(5) I didn't know him that well."

He raised an eyebrow at her, dropping his gaze to glance up and down her body. She didn't seem to mind. She was, after all, a lingerie model. It's what people did to her all day. "He sounds like my kind of bloke," Draco finally replied.

Her eyes didn't change, but she shifted in her seat, crossing long legs and placing her forearms on the glass table. "Blaise brought me up here because he said you were lonely. But, it looks to me, you'd rather be lonely."

Snorting sarcastically he gave her a sneer. "What's a smart girl like you doing in a dump like this, then?"

"Smart's nothing to do with it, Draco. I owe Blaise a favor. I don't like owing favors you see," she explained. Then she leaned back in the curved, black booth and slung her arm over the side of the seat. "So you just sit up here and watch? Are you some sort of voyeur? There are better seats down there."

"No voyeurism," Draco replied. "I am forced to attend these hormone messes. I simply choose to stay as far away from the cluster of idiots as possible." Then, he smirked, saying, "Blaise said you were a lingerie model."

"It pays the lawyers. I'll owl you tickets to my next show. It's always fun, and there are plenty of beautiful women." She stopped, looking tactfully at him, adding, "And men."

He ignored her suggestion. "You and your charming wit will be there, too."

"Of course," she answered. "But I'm not in the market right now, Draco. Divorces are so…messy. Don't you think?"

"Hm, yes," he replied. "And, who is the lucky man?"

She raised an artistic eyebrow. "He's a first-class asshole. He runs around with his wand up his arse, whipping it out to fight the forces of evil just as often as he whips his dick out of his pants for busty blonds. I'm beautiful, and I won't wait forever for a man to calm down."

Then she eyed him carefully. "It was interesting, Draco," she said after a moment. "I'm not sure I like you, but you keep an old girl on her toes." Then, getting up from her seat, "Come to the show. You'll enjoy yourself. Bring a few friends with you. You'll all be taken care of."

* * *

_Part II_

True to her word, Evra sent him four tickets to the lingerie show. He would have skipped the whole affair, but only because he couldn't think of who was cultured enough to go with him. Inviting his wife was out of the question. She wouldn't quite understand the applause wasn't for her. He couldn't take his bodyguards; they would jump up on the runway and start humping models' legs. Only a few Death Eaters were subtle enough to appreciate the event. His father was one of them. But, his father was in prison.

He fingered the tickets, set for a week from that Wednesday. He could invite the Dark Lord. Only years of control kept him from rolling around on the ground with mirth at the thought. There were a few older Death Eaters that would suit his purpose. Their sons and daughters were unbelievable fuck ups, but they came from the time when if you weren't calm, controlled, and cool you would be killed. Only one young man made it on to Draco's list – Carl Warrington. The other two, Carnes and Livingston, were from his father's generation. All three of them were well-groomed men, classy with a hint of subdued danger wafting from their skin. They would be suitable enough.

Somehow, Draco couldn't help thinking, long after he spoke with her, that he had met Evra somewhere before. With his brain buzzing from the alcohol he was barely able to keep a witty tongue in his head, but, after the headaches he ritually endured, he couldn't shake the feeling. Something was terribly familiar about her, like they had danced that step before.

He didn't entertain the thought for long, and returned to his normal schedule. He caught his wife in bed with another man. In their bed no less. He ignored her idiocy and refused to sleep with her. He intimidated a few worthless employees of the ministry. Long after he'd forgotten about Evra's appearance he made it a point to cross paths with that stupid redheaded Weasley stiff. Ronald Weasley. If he didn't get his fix at least once a week he went stark raving mad. Potter was there, that made it more glorious. About the time Wednesday rolled around, things had calmed down considerably at his house and Pansy was threatening to leave again. Draco couldn't help but encourage her to go. What kind of husband would he be if he didn't see to his wife's unconditional happiness every waking moment of his life? Draco thought a decidedly content one. Who would ever know?

That Tuesday, at a surprise gathering, an interesting subject was broached. The Dark Lord, apparently, had been using a very secret spy to gain information to use against Dumbledore and his pathetic Order of the Phoenix. No one had known about this girl, and even those who had were immediately Obliviated. The Dark Lord claimed that it was for their own safety, as well as hers, that her identity remain anonymous. Draco didn't like it, but he accepted the idea. His master revealed that after three years of flawless devotion she had turned against him and stole four of his books. These books, Draco guessed, were the Four Books of Dark, written by Salazar Slytherin himself, with his own blood, in his own hand. They were priceless, and without them many avenues of dark magic were shut off. The Dark Lord informed them that if they ever came across the girl named Ginny Weasley, she was to be brought to him alive.

Aside from his rather vague order, nothing else unusual had happened and Draco, along with the rest of the Death Eaters, was released unscathed. Jaime(6) Carnes, Oliver Livingston, and Carl Warrington eventually came around to the Malfoy Estate Wednesday evening, dressed sharply in dark greens and black. Draco accepted nothing less than black for his own wardrobe, but he wouldn't begrudge his companions their house colors. They were all rich men, very distinguished in their fields. Draco appreciated that. He liked traveling in high company.

Conversation was overrated, so most of their trip was made in intimidating silence. For Draco, this opened up the possibility to observe his guests. Jaime Carnes was known in his youth as the Butcher of Barcelona. He had eluded the Spanish Ministry for twelve years before his trial. Bribes had bought his innocence. He was a lean man in his late fifties, hair white at the edges, and a finely trimmed goatee. His eyes were as hard as agates,(7) but his fist was much stronger. Oliver Livingston was older than the Butcher of Barcelona by at least twenty years. His family name would die with him, due to a complication at a revel the year of his induction. He was one of the first to take the mark, and the mark hadn't yet been perfected. Still, he retained a strong vigor in killing that even younger, more bloodthirsty, young men did not display. His hand had killed more Muggles than Draco could count. Carl Warrington was a young man a few years older than Draco. He'd been on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and had been offered a chance to go professional and tour Europe. He declined for the hefty sum the Death Eaters offered for his services. Warrington had a knack for interrogations. His face was a deceptively sane one, but, underneath the innocent brown eyes and curly tuft of blond hair, he was a madman.

Draco wouldn't like to be in a dark alley alone with any of his temporary companions; but, faced with the prospect of facing himself in a dark alley, he decided the feeling was mutual. But, Death Eaters never claimed to be charming conversationalists and friendly individuals. Draco let it be.(8)

They were seated off the runway in a café-Nuevo style table. Draco pulled up the legs of his slacks as he sat comfortably and ordered his drink. People, young and old, men and women, filled the large, open-air room while a frazzled woman on stage began to explain the line of clothing the models were going to display. Polite clapping was followed by bass-saturated music.

The Butcher leaned over in his chair towards Draco and put his hand up to his mouth. "Eh, who is the woman you procured your tickets from?"

Draco whispered back, "I'll point her out."

If not for the fact that Evra was going to be there, Draco decided he probably would never have gone to one of these things in the first place. Except for Evra, Draco had never been particularly attracted to anorexic women. He wasn't sure Evra was anorexic, but she was terribly thin. All the women were good-looking, and walked up and down the catwalk with grace and ease, but Draco couldn't be excited by their abstract beauty. He eyed their attire with a cold eye, knowing that if he willed it any of them would take it off for him. He was almost positive Evra wouldn't be seduced by him unless she wanted to be seduced in the first place.

Draco glared blankly at the stream of models, all until Evra made her first appearance. It didn't matter what she was wearing, that wasn't why Draco was here. On the runway, Evra challenged every man in the room with a cool strut. She dared them – no, demanded from them – to look away. It was in the way her shoulders moved, how she tossed her hips when she turned, and how her eyes looked at everyone in the room as if they were mere specks of dust that needed to be brushed off her shoulder – not important, but slightly annoying. Her hair pooled in the curve of her back, and Draco could see an array of spots, dark and intriguing, lining her shoulder blades and spine.

"That's her," Draco stated, his voice more blasé than he felt.

He felt Carnes' eye wander to Draco and return to the show. He felt as every man in the room felt. Offended that a woman so beautiful could turn her back on them and return behind the walls of the walk. Draco felt his lips twitch involuntarily, his glass immediately covered them, but he was sure one of his companions saw.

Evra returned to the runway four times after that, each time asking if they'd had enough yet. When the time for final applause came, Draco's claps were slightly less than energetic. All through the show Draco had been wondering what it would be like if Evra was his mistress. His father had, at one time, nine mistresses and more than one male companion he'd shared himself with. Draco had yet to take on a woman for such reasons, but he had never stayed loyal to Pansy. Marrying Evra was out of the question, but giving her a house in the French countryside – a small estate to surround her with clothes and jewelry and all the finery he had to offer – didn't sound so bad.

Carnes, Livingston, and Warrington conversed in low voices as Draco mused to himself, awaiting Evra. She claimed she would meet him after the show. When he finally saw her walk out into the main room, he made sure to school his face with professional plainness. He wasn't thinking anything at all, or so his face said. With a sweeping gesture, Draco stood and introduced Evra to his guests.

"Evra, these are the men worthy enough for me to bestow your gifts to. Jaime Carnes," Carnes remarked how breathtaking the line was. "Oliver Livingston," Livingston took her hand and kissed it in a perfunctory fashion. "And, Carl Warrington," Warrington attempted a debonair smile that caused Evra to raise an eyebrow in an amused tilt.

A mysterious smile touched her lips and she said in her richly toned voice, "The pleasure is mine, gentlemen. It appears I'm rather outclassed this evening. Had I known the company would be so…" she searched for a word with comedy in her eyes, "colorful," Draco smirked, "I would have sent less tickets."

"Though we thank you all the same, Miss…" Livingston let the sentence off.

"Missus, actually," she said distastefully, "though soon to be miss again."

Draco noted she didn't supply her last name, which even he didn't know and was beginning to wonder about. The feeling he'd seen her somewhere a long time ago resurfaced. He couldn't pin the face to a particular person, and Draco was sure he'd recognize that face in any era.

"I have never been one for excess presentations of the flesh," Livingston commented. "But, you have brought me around, it seems. Perhaps it isn't the clothes, but you yourself."

Evra nodded evenly. "Like with any business transaction, Mr. Livingston, I'm not selling the clothes or even my body, as most models would think. I'm selling me, and what I make you, and them, think. One would think this is curiously akin to prostitution, otherwise."

"Indeed," Livingston murmured.

Her eyes were a mystery even to Draco as she looked at him. He cleared his throat softly and glanced unevenly at Carnes, Warrington, and Livingston. "I would like to invite you back to my home, Evra, for drinks and conversation. Jaime, Oliver, Carl, you are invited as well.

Draco was glad to hear it when all three of his friends begged off. Three slightly spaced popping sounds later and Draco was again alone with Evra. He offered her arm and attempted conversation again. She beat him to it.

"Your…companions…were very gentlemanly," she said softly, gazing up at him through thick eyelashes.

Her arm was loose in his, but warm nonetheless. It sent pulsating ripples through his chest and legs, reminding him of very ungentlemanly things. Her hips occasionally brushed his as they walked; she matched him stride for stride. If he reached out he would be able to grip her hair in his hand, pulling her savory neck to his teeth. He ignored his primal urges. "They are private men, for the most part. They have their uses. 'Uses' useful enough for them to remain my…companions."

"I see," she purred quietly. Then, looking up at him with dagger-like eyes, "Why did you come tonight, Draco? Obviously you fished the gene pool looking for the right guests, when you could have brought some of your less educated friends…gods forbid Blaise Zabini."

"Is it not polite to respond to a woman's invitation?" he questioned wittily in reply.

She ripped her arm from his so fast it made him shiver. "I'm not an easy person to be around, Draco. I don't like people and I don't like you. My kingdom for a straightforward man!"

Sneering, Draco turned on her with vicious canines bared. He gripped her hard around the shoulders and pulled her face close to his. "Given the choice between your kingdom and the man, I'll take him. At least he'll be direct!"

A devastatingly beautiful smile spread across her lips and her tongue darted out to wet them. "But, dearest," she said in a mock-sweet voice, "all the fire would be gone if you did. We can't stop the fire. It was always burning, since the world's been turning."(9)

He recognized that from somewhere. He let her go; convinced she was mad underneath all her beauty and wit, her intelligence. She smiled wickedly then, backing away as her hips switched violently, enticingly. Yes, even then he was attracted to her. "Don't look for me, Draco," she said in a singsong voice, her hands clasped behind her back as she winked. "You won't find me."

Laughing, she skipped backwards towards the wide, double doors, playfully. She was a tiger, he realized. A real, live, woman-tiger, possessed by the spirits of the jungles. He watched her, entranced. "Oh, and, Draco," she continued, looking over he shoulder as she drew her wand and opened the door. "Remember hate is merely the result of wounded love!"(10)

And she Disapparated before his eyes.

* * *

_Part III_

Draco searched long months for the shadowy woman, Evra. At times he felt he'd merely imagined her; that was why she was so familiar, and yet so mysterious. Her laugh, her eyes, her twitching hips, her perfect way of rendering him speechless at the drop of a hat. Where had he seen it? …Unless it was in his head. Where did he know her? …Unless he'd first met her in his mind.

Draco's brain worked overtime on the problem. He'd stay up late gathering every clue he could think of to lead him to his prey. He thought of every woman he'd ever seen, all the way from his first year at Hogwarts. He thought of over three hundred women that never fit the profile. But he felt she wouldn't be found by her looks, but rather by her words.

What had she said?

…hate is merely a result of wounded love…

What did that mean? What could she have been telling him with that? There were two ways to look at it. One, she was replying to his violent reaction about her asking for straightforward men. Was she suggesting he was feeling like he hated her because she'd rebuffed his advances…his love? Well, he certainly didn't love her. Draco didn't love anyone but himself, and made sure people knew that. Draco knew she wasn't foolish enough to think he was in love with her, no mater how mad she may be.

The other way to look at it was that she hated him because he'd wounded her love in the past. It implied that they'd met before. And that implied that he was back at square one, looking for not a stranger, but someone he'd known quite well. Perhaps, if she was as mad as he thought she might be, she'd actually fallen in love with him, but never shared it with him. Not like it would do her much good. As he said, Draco loved no one but Draco.

So why did he insist on trying to find her?

She was a needle in a haystack. A grain of sand floating in the Pacific. A star in a galaxy in a nebula a thousand trillion light-decades away.

He'd tried all the dark spells. He'd ravaged his father's collection of dark books. He'd enlisted the help of the Dark Lord himself. There was no sign of her._ You won't find me._ She was right. He couldn't find her for all the gold in Gringotts. …Most of which was his anyway.

Months rolled on into years. Pansy eventually left him, not even producing an heir. He kept fairly close tabs on her, and knew she lived in a villa on an island in the South of Spain with Blaise. They weren't married, but they had a new love child aborted every few months. Neither were much for children. Nor protection it seemed. His work offered little release from the mundane, though he was promoted to a higher position regularly. Nothing short of Minister of Magic would cause him to slow down. And Draco doubted he'd even stop there. His house remained quiet, and he didn't take on another wife. If nothing else he could steal a child and claim he was his. Draco didn't care.

Things that were simmering reached a boiling point sometime during the summer of 2007, when Draco was twenty-seven. Even with all his influence over events he couldn't stop Enola(11) from dropping the big one. Finally, on 19 August 2007, the Dark Lord Voldemort found where Harry Potter, his dark-haired wife, and two children were living.

Godric's Hallow was a small community of mostly Muggles. Potter had obviously been betting on the 'lightning-never-strikes-the-same-place-twice' theory. Draco would have put his money to better use. Though, it did take a very long time for Voldemort to find him; Draco would give Potter that, at least. Not much could stave of the Dark Lord's anger those days, and no amount of reasoning could convince him not to be cautious while entering the lair of Potter. Dumbledore, Draco bet, had booby-trapped and baby-proofed the place against any idiot and lord of the dark forces.

It was the night of the nineteenth that all Death Eaters, a hefty amount of nearly two hundred, and led Voldemort's second attack on Godric's Hallow. Draco had been in many battles, small skirmishes and large scale attacks both, but he had never witnessed something quite like this before. He was part of the history being written, and even if he was fool enough to die he'd still be in the textbooks.

Draco clamored to the top of some burning rubble and looked out around the field. Most of the active battle had moved past the former residence of the Potters, on which he stood. In fact, if he was not mistaken, Voldemort and Dumbledore were facing it off as he spoke, Dumbledore buying time for the injured Harry Potter and his family to escape. For all his fire and brimstone,(12) Draco was about as brave as a fox against blood-hounds on a hunt. This was a real battle, not any mere foreplay, and he was going to make a run for it.

He'd pretended to fall while Voldemort had entered the Potter residence, making it seem as though a simple trap had been his downfall as he drank the Death Draught. His death had been convincing enough for Voldemort to howl in outrage and descend upon Potter in a fiery storm. Later, Draco'd woken up with a blinding headache and a house on his back. Now, looking out at his surroundings, he could see the real damage war did. His skin smelled slightly burnt, but that was to be expected. He was alive at least, but that was far more than he could say for the countless Death Eaters and aurors that littered the small field of Godric's Hallow.

Not trusting the Mark to remain silent with his Apparation, Draco took off at a healthy jog to the nearest settlement. It looked to be about two miles as a bird flew. Draco would make it in less than twenty minutes if he hurried. And hurry he did. Speed was more important than stealth at this point. He needed to be like lightning, though perhaps without the thunder, if he could help it.

It was an abandon cottage he'd seen – a woodcutter's cottage with a leaky roof and a serviceable chimney. He wouldn't set a fire unless he wanted to give away his location. But, warmth would be appreciated. He found a cellar hidden beneath some rubble that had once been a part of the roof. There were three other rooms with much healthier roofs, including the room with the fireplace. If worse came to worse Draco could conceal himself in the cellar when action came his way. New Delhi was sounding particularly nice this time of year, and he had an old friend that needed to be paid a visit. He would give him the sanctuary Draco desperately needed…if he became Hindu that is. Draco could live with Hindu.

Draco nearly cursed when he heard voices from outside. He knew he should have set up a tripwire to warn him. With no time to go into the cellar unseen, Draco positioned himself at the entrance of the cottage, waiting to take hostage anyone who came in. He would escape that way if he needed. But, he hoped they were just passing through.

A deep, scratchy voice said, "I'll stay here."

"Be back in a flash," a female grumbled in return. "Don't come in 'til I give the okay!" she added vigorously. Draco knew that voice.

His reflexes were somewhat dampened by who entered the door. It swung shut behind her and she spun on it, her wand at ready. Frowning, Draco saw an unfamiliar expression cross her face. Was it fear? Draco smirked. He could make her afraid. Silently, he tiptoed behind her and grabbed her around the waist, knocking her wand from her hand as he pinned her arms to her sides and flung a hand over her mouth.

"So nice to see you again, Evra," he purred into her ear. She stiffened and then relaxed. He knew she knew who he was. "If you promise not to scream, I'll let my hand off your mouth." She seemed to consider this, nodding her head when she was done.

Evra cleared her throat and said very softly, "The pleasure's all mine."

Draco snorted and pulled her closer to him, inhaling into her hair. A sweet aroma, sweat mixed with a female scent, and fear. She shivered. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

He watched closely as she licked her lips. "Do you know who's outside that door, Draco?" She was so serious he almost stopped his game. "It's Harry Potter, his wife, his two children, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. They will kill you if they see you. You won't be able to escape them." She paused, as if searching for the right words. "Unless you don't want to live anymore, you will do as I say and get in the darkest corner of his house."

"Hey, do you need any help in there?" a female voice asked. Draco recognized it from years and years ago. Hermione Granger.

Draco thought for a moment. "And why should I trust you?" he murmured dangerously in her ear.

"Because if you love yourself half as much as you claim you will see this is the only way to save your sorry hide," she spat back viciously.

Slowly, Draco released her, slinking back into the shadows. "If you betray me, remember I am not without defenses."

Her eyes followed him into a dark corner of the far room, her tattooed hand rubbing her neck negligently where he'd held her. He watched her as she did a quick skim of the house and then called out for her companions, Potter's friends, wife, and children, to come in. All was safe…

All in all it was a ragtag party. Draco felt confident, if the absolute worse came to the absolute worse, he could kill all of them and maybe make it out alive. All except Evra perhaps. He had no idea how powerful she was. Potter, however, was looking worse for wear. He had a deep gash along his cheek and neck that would never heal right at this rate. He was wheezing and coughing. He was still built stalkier than Draco, wider about the chest, arms, and waist, and just as tall. He was being supported by his two best friends, Granger and Weasley. Granger immediately began working on Potter's wounds, Weasley supporting him as he groaned in agony.

"Is it supposed to hurt so much, 'Mione?" Wealey asked in a worried voice. Dirt and blood covered his face and arms. He still looked better than Potter though. Draco had never noticed it, but underneath all the shabby robes that the Weasley wore, he was ripped like Adonis. Sure he was a redheaded Adonis, a blasphemy to the character, but he wasn't exactly a waste. He was very tall, well built. Draco knew Weasley would beat him if it came to fists. The man was a giant.

"I'm a researcher in ancient spells and runes, Ron, not a doctor," Granger said primly, though tiredly, albeit. She sighed. "But, no, with a trained mediwitch it wouldn't hurt so much. I just want him to stop bleeding." Draco noted her hair was still wild and she was still rather short, but she wasn't too hard on the eyes. She fixed herself with a look of concentration as she tended to Potter's wounds.

That was when Draco saw two young boys, huddled around a beautiful woman he assumed was their mother. He recognized her from somewhere …Hogwarts …Ravenclaw …Seeker ...Chang …Cho Chang. She was very beautiful, classically a perfection of art. Despite her haggard look and limp hair, Draco could tell, in her element, she could easily be the most beautiful woman in the room. The two boys clung to her tightly. The oldest couldn't have been more than ten, but he had more of the looks of his father than his mother. Big green eyes, mess of black hair, glasses. The younger one was similar but absent of glasses.

He saw Evra, her arms crossed and a grim frown on her face as she surveyed the scene. Draco, comparing her to Cho Chang – no, Potter – decided she was the more beautiful of the two. Not many men would say it, but those who had taste would. Potter's bride might have untapped splendor, but Evra had gross quantities of character, charisma, style, grace, wit, intrigue, and, yes, elegance and beauty. Her hair was loose around her face, and a few strands obscured her eyes. In one hand she rapped her wand against her forearm, and in the other hand held itself to her ribcage under her breasts.

Finally, Weasley spoke up to his friend. "Look, Hermione, is he well enough to walk again? We need to get him somewhere safe, and we can't Apparate him like this. Hell, we can't even Portkey anymore."

Draco had been the one to place a ban on Portkeys two weeks ago. He regretted the decision now, of course. Biting his knuckle in an unseemly way, he waited for the answer. Granger glared from Weasley to Potter, then looked up at Evra for some reason. "Well, you're the one with field experience here. What do you think, Gin?"

Gin? Gin? No, Evra. Evra…with no last name…

"Yeah, Ginny?" Weasley chipped in. "What do you say, sis? You've got more years on the job than any of us."

Sis… As in sister… As in Weasley's sister…

"Give him ten minutes," Evra barked out. "Cast the Blood Replication Charm every two minutes, Hermione. Then we have to get going. It isn't safe to stay here any longer."

Draco was putting it together. Evra was Ginny Weasley, Ronald Weasley's younger sister, Voldemort's Heir of Slytherin, and Voldemort's turncoat from all those years ago. A stab of pain shot through Draco's chest. He could, if he wanted. Give her to the Dark Lord in exchange for his own life, if he played his cards right. He would be forgiven, after a sorts, and he wouldn't have to live the rest of his life in fear of Voldemort.

Ginevra Weasley…Ginny Weasley…Gin… Draco stopped. She was coming his way.

"I've gotta tinkle," she said, most unladylike. "I'll scout a little and be back in time. If I don't come back…go without me."

She left, deaf to their chorus of replies. Draco heard the crunching of leaves outside the shattered window of he room he hid in. Evra, or should he say Ginny Weasley, motioned for him to get out of the house and he hopped out the window. Following her for about a hundred yards, he let himself be pulled behind a rather large tree a shushed with a finger.

For a while she looked at him with soft eyes, then they hardened with verve. She looked nervous, edgy, uncontrolled in a way he thought he'd never see her. "I hope you know what you're doing, Draco Malfoy," she said in a deceptively calm voice. He noted her wand was still drawn.

"I know what I'm doing, Weasley," he spat, glaring at her.

For a moment he thought he saw hurt in her eyes before they hardened over again. "Well," her Evra voice back in place, "it seems you found out my dirty little secret." Then she snorted. "Weasley, indeed," she added with distaste. "I haven't been one of those since I was nineteen. Or don't you remember? It was Mrs. Potter for a long time, Draco dearest."

She could see the surprise on his face, and she smiled cruelly at it. "Well, surprises, surprises indeed," she murmured, putting a finger on his chest. "You don't know everything, Draco Malfoy."

But just at that moment he did. He knew everything, because he could see it all in instant replay, his mind working on overload.

_Ginny sighed into his soft embrace. He eased himself over her, and then into her. She gasped, eyes flashing softly, reflecting him. She moaned, eyes clouding over. He drove into her again and again; she began calling his name. _

"_Draco… Draco… Draaaco…" _

_And in the background, "...always burning, since the world's been turning. We can't stop the fire. It was..."_

He blinked, dropping his wand as his hands went to his head.

_Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him. They'd both known it, even though the truth was sometimes too much to bear. All the while they'd been together, after she'd married that idiot, now she'd chosen the time to desert him. _

"_I'm married to Harry now, Draco," she whispered, tears falling down her face. _

"_I don't care. You're too important to lose, Ginny. Stay with me," he begged. _

"_No," she replied, tearing herself from him._

Draco's head spun, driving him to his knees.

_He had her cornered. She was in her disguise, a simpering librarian in the Ministry libraries. She wore mismatching clothes and pulled her glorious hair into a loose bun with quills to hold it. Even her fingers were ink-stained and paper-cut. But she moaned against him like a purring tiger, dragging her nails over his back. _

"_Draco," she said, pulling her lips from his. _

"_What?" he snapped. _

"_You and I both know I have to do it." Her voice was final, but still it wavered. _

_He growled and kissed her harshly. She was putty in his hands. "I'm all the spy Dumbledore needs," he said forcefully, bending her head back to suck at her neck. "With Snape dead, I'm the one to fill the void. I won't let you go into the danger." _

_Wetness touched his cheek. Her tears. He kissed her strongly again, and the bookcase actually groaned under their weight. "I have to," she whispered._

"_Leave Potter for me," he demanded. _

"_I can't... _

"_Obliviate..."_

Draco opened his eyes. He was staring into hers, bright in anticipation. Did she know…? Of course, she knew what he had seen. It was him. It was her. Their past. Their love. It was what they had been before she'd Obliviated him.

"Why?" he whispered harshly.

Her eyes were soft again. "We don't have time for this," she said. "But, I will tell you why. I had to protect you against yourself. You wanted to take on Riddle alone. I couldn't let you. You and I were the Death Eaters destined to bring him down. But, you didn't want me in the battle. We got too personal…we fell in love…"

She snorted here; tears were wiped from her eyes by the back of her hand. "No one else knew about me, only Riddle and you, and Riddle didn't know the truth of it. So I had to Obliviate you; otherwise, you would have tried to kill Riddle yourself. I knew you would die."

She stopped, licking her lips. "I've been going crazy, Draco. Harry divorced me because he didn't know what I did with my spare time. He didn't know I was a Death Eater," she said this as she pulled back a sleeve to reveal her tattoo. In the Celtic designs that ran along her arm, he saw the Dark Mark, hidden very well. "He thought I was just a librarian."

She snorted again. "My world's been falling apart without you," she confessed, hanging her head. "I…I almost really became a Death Eater…more than once. When I stole the books, right before you saw me at the modeling show, Dumbledore cast the Fidelus Charm on me and my Secret Keeper. That's why you couldn't find me."

Swallowing again, she dared a look in his eyes. Finally, Draco could speak. He didn't want to, though. His lips, with a life of their own, crashed down on hers. He pushed her to the ground, cradling her head as he pinned her lithe body under his. She moaned deep in her throat, her hands going to his hair and bringing him closer. Their tongues danced with practice, his leading, her attacking. He could smell her sweetness. He ran his hands under her shirt and grabbed her breasts, causing her to tremble. She moaned again, trapping his hips between her thighs.

"Draaaaco…" she murmured as he suckled at her neck. "Mhmm… Draco, stop…"

She was none too convincing, but he did so anyway, propping himself up on his forearms. She took a moment to open her eyes, and fixed him with a serious look. "You have to get out of here, Draco," she said. He nodded, numbly. "Please…you and I know our wands are connected to the Marks. The Fidelus protects me, but if you use yours Riddle will find you." She licked her lips. "Take mine," she said, thrusting, her hand into his pocket with ease. "Now get out of here."

With a long, lingering, searing kiss, he yanked her to her feet. She was too dazzled to stand properly for a moment, and she leaned against him. With all their time apart, it was hell for Draco to leave her now. But, at least he had his memories…their memories. But, what had to be done had to be done. And they always had their duty if memories failed them. Duty drove them apart, and was again now.

"Here's my wand," he said. "If you use it he won't find you or me."

She nodded at this. For the first time in a long time he noted she didn't have anything else to say. "Nothing to say, precious?" he asked her chidingly.

She licked her lips again, a tear sliding free of her left eye. "No," she said softly. "I just don't know how to say it." She looked away, but then turned and kissed his soundly, pulling him into a hug. Her lips near his ear, he heard her whisper in a choked voice, "I'm so sorry. I was selfish when I was younger. I should have divorced Harry. I should have come to you when you asked. I never should have made you marry Pansy and I never should have gotten us into all this. It's all my fault."

He put his fingers through her air, shaking his head. "It's not your fault. I never blamed you. …Well, maybe for Potter. But I knew the truth. You never loved him."

"I didn't," she agreed.

A soft sound in the distance, made her shake her head. "You have to go," she said in a quiet voice.

Once again he kissed her, forcing her mouth open, and smothering her with his heat. When he released her he found he was crying. "I'll find you, Draco," she whispered harshly, padding away. "Wait for me."

Then she dashed off, his wand in her hands. Idly he remembered, now that he could remember, that her wand didn't like him. Despite her warnings, Draco followed her under the cover of the forest vegetation. He saw her as she returned coldly to the cabin, and he saw her as she spoke in hushed tones to Weasley and Granger. They were doing something he didn't recognize when Potter asked to speak with Ginny in private.

Draco thanked his cover when they started coming his way.

"I wanted to thank you, Ginny," Potter said with a gruff voice, still worn from the cut. Draco saw his scar and sneered. "You're risking a lot for my family."

She looked at him hardly. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Look, Harry. I don't know you anymore. I haven't spoken to you and most of my family since our divorce. You know Ron still blames me for that?"

"Ginny," he groaned, putting his hand on his forehead. "I'm sorry for all that! There's not much I can do, though."

"Listen to me, Harry," Ginny said, her voice different. "I was in love with you once. I was more in love with the idea of being in love with you. But, even more than that, I was in love with a man who was your exact opposite in every spectrum of the rainbow. I couldn't love you like that because he knew what I was and you didn't."

He had a hurt look on his face. "There was another… Who?" he half whispered, half cried.

Ginny only rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter," she snapped. "He's dead. And, besides, you were sleeping with Cho long before we were married, Harry, and long after too. Do you think I'm stupid, Harry? You and Cho have been married for about five, maybe six years? James is eight. You do the math."

Finally, Harry sighed. "Our marriage was a sham, okay. I admit it. But I am thankful for what you are doing. I'm happy with Cho, and I love my sons. I wish you could find happiness, too."

This is where Ginny paused. Draco saw her face soften, and hoped to hell she wasn't about to forgive him. But, he realized she was thinking of him by the way her fingers brushed her lips. Her eyes became very hard then as she turned on him. "You know what, Harry?" she asked viciously. "Fuck your happiness. And fuck you. Fuck my family and fuck Cho. I hate you. But, I hate Riddle more, so I'd really hate to see him win. And if killing you makes him win, I'm going to keep your pathetic, whoring life safe until he dies. I'm not doing this for you. I hope you understand that, Potter."

She turned on a heel and left Potter gaping like a fish in her wake. Draco was very proud of her right then. Proud enough to Apparate to a safer destination until the little skirmish was over. He'd find his way to India somehow, even if he had to Apparate across continents to do so.

* * *

_Part IV_

It had been a year and three months since he'd last seen Ginny. He'd counted the days, but he couldn't remember them with her staring at him like that. It had been so long, because Potter had to defeat Voldemort. His son had to be kidnapped by renegade Death Eaters and rescued by none other than Ginny "Bloody-Hands" Weasley, as she'd been dubbed. Then they had to clean up a bit, and after all that, she had to fake her death at the hands of a psycho Death Eater by the name of Carl Warrington, claiming 'Evra was a traitor and deserved what she got.' Ginny always did have an affinity to memory charms.

After all that time he'd gone through anger and sadness, aggression and melancholy. He'd considered finding her, kidnapping her from her home, and visiting her when she was out on the field. But he hadn't done it.

_I'll find you, Draco. Wait for me._

It had been her last words to him, and he'd followed them to the letter. He'd been surprised to find that his body was recovered from under the rubble of the Potter residence. He hadn't remembered leaving it there. …But then Ginny was a very clever witch. She could do anything she set her mind to.

And she had set her mind to finding him. He had not made it easy, that was for sure. He'd moved around a lot at first. He'd stayed weeks in Hungary, Israel, Liberia, Sudan, New Jersey, South Carolina, California, Japan, Mongolia, and finally rested in India. It was a small village that he found his friend it. He'd forsaken his name, but at one time it had been Hector Hida. Formerly Hector had set him up in a Hindu temple and forced him to sweep for hours on end. Draco didn't mind, but it didn't pay, and he wasn't about to risk the New Delhi-based Gringotts.

Formerly Hector had found him a good-sized flat on a river. It was about ten miles from the temple, and he had to walk back and forth every day. But, it was peaceful, and no one bothered him. He was fluent in one form of Hindi, and was working on several others. It was dull work, but after the fast-paced life he'd been living, it was hard to change. He longed for big cities sometimes, but hadn't braved one yet. The sea was close; he could smell it on good mornings. And he didn't ever want for food or anything like that. But, he got lonely sometimes.

That's why he'd been surprised when a lone figure was walking down the road to his house. He lived fairly out of the way, in a nook of the jungle where the flatlands met some large hills. The river ran through peacefully the closer it got to his house, and then out to the sea a few miles later. It wasn't a big river, so no one bothered to sail it. No one took it out to the sea to make salt there. That's why he'd been surprised when the figure kept towards his house.

He was about to leave for 'work' when he'd seen them. Suspicious as ever, he had drawn Ginny's wand and waited on his porch. He realized he couldn't see them properly when they were about a hundred yards away. The person had a spell on, to make them invisible to the Muggle eye. They were so powerful it made them fuzzy to the wizard's eye.

But, here she was, wrapped in cotton, looking almost native, save the odd dress and red hair. He'd stumbled off his porch, it wasn't even a very good porch, and wrapped her in his arms. Nothing could break them apart now. They were one again. He kissed her and cried out.

"I love you."

* * *

(1) Gen-Xers – the generation that Harry and his friends grew up in, people who were teenagers from about 1985 to 1995

(2) Enola Gay – the plane that carried the first nuclear weapon to Japan in WWII

(3) 'second star to the right and straight on till morning' – refers to the way Peter Pan directs Wendy, Michael, and John to get to Never, Never Land in the Disney film, Peter Pan

(4) 'terminally pretty' – lyrics from the song "Life in the Fast Lane" by the Eagles (Don Henley, Joe Walsh, Glen Frey)

(5) 'He was brutally handsome. They said he was ruthless, crude.' – refers to the lyrics "He was brutally handsome…/ They said he was ruthless/ They said he was crude/" from the song "Life in the Fast Lane" by the Eagles (Don Henley, Joe Walsh, Glen Frey)

(6) Jaime – the Spanish form of 'James' (pronounced HIE-may), incidentally, his last name, Carnes, means 'meat,' and he is called the 'Butcher of Barcelona'

(7) 'hard as agates' – description of the character Mayaserana in Polgara the Sorceress by David and Leigh Eddings

(8) 'let it be' – refers to the lyrics "Mother Mary came to me/ Speaking words of wisdom/ 'Let it be, let it be/" from the song "Let It Be" by the Beatles

(9) 'We can't stop the fire. It was always burning, since the world's been turning.' – lyrics from a song by Billy Joel

(10) '…hate is merely the result of wounded love.' – the character Lena St. Clair said "Isn't hate merely the result of wounded love?" in The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan

(11) Enola – refers to Enola Gay, see superscript number two

(12) 'fire and brimstone' – refers to the sermons made by John Edwards (I think! Correct me if I'm wrong, please.)


End file.
